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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808514">Emotional Support War Criminal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HvneyBee/pseuds/LeeBee'>LeeBee (HvneyBee)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies In Disguise (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, How Do I Tag, My First AO3 Post, OOC Killian, POV Female Character, Romantic Tension, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Tension, Slow Updates, Swearing, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:40:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,709</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HvneyBee/pseuds/LeeBee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She just wants a normal life. Now that she can't have one because the agency put a weapon in her chest, she guesses she'll just have to settle for making robotic limbs. At least it's a relatively normal life. Nothing can possibly go wrong from there right?</p><p>Watched this movie like, a few months ago. I loved it. I loved Killian. Killian is this big bad dude, I get it. But MAN am I a sucker for redemption arcs and soft sides to big bad villains. I see a lot of darker xreader/xOC fics for Killian, and I wanted something.... lighter? Softer? I want a soft boy who cares. I'm not an expert on language, robotics, or ptsd, so forgive any inaccuracies where they happen. Enjoy my self indulgence!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Killian (Spies in Disguise) &amp; Original Female Character(s), Killian (Spies in Disguise)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Emotional Support War Criminal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! I don't know slang and try to avoid it to seem like I know what I'm doing. (I don't know what I'm doing). But if you have any I'd love to learn! If I use something wrong, I'll try to remember to fix it, but I get busy and forgetful. (sorry). First fic so be patient with me please?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She could feel it pulsing. It was acting up again. The dull, repetitive ache of what her ribs hid from the world. She ignored the alert the agency set out a while ago. All she wanted to do was sleep it off and take the painkillers later. Maybe it knew before she did that her life was in danger. The shattering of the window made her jolt. Locking eyes with the machine that burst through, it wasn't friendly. Before it started firing she was already moving. Down the hall and to the small closet down the stairs. The bat was just in reach by the time the machine was spiraling in. Two hands on the handle as she "home-run"ed the metal bitch. It skidded across the floor. There was no hesitation as she went over to it. Placing her foot down and impaling it with the blunt end of the metal bat. The light in it sputtered out. The tech was vaguely recognizable. Something familiar from when she had to go to regular check ups on the device. She knew she wasn't unscathed from the droplets of red on the floor, but she couldn't feel anything. If there was one thing the weapon was good for, it was the temporary shut off of her pain receptors. It was like an adrenaline rush, but longer and difficult to calm down from once it activated. Super strength. Enhanced reflexes. No pain. Less thinking, more doing. A soldier. She wrapped up her wounds with whatever she had in her first aid. She didn't like fighting. She didn't want to be a fighter. In fight or flight, she flew. Maybe that was why they picked her. At least she didn't long for the painkillers anymore. Putting stupid little character bandages over scrapes and cuts. Her house was a mess. She would probably have to move again. She hated moving. It felt like she had just finished the last of the old boxes, but each location was never safe. The railing of the stairs was splintered. The door wasn't on it's hinges anymore. And slowly she could feel the ache creeping into her joints as the danger fully passed. When the call came she wasn't surprised. Location compromised. New housing on it's way. Blah... Blah..... B l a h. She had finally settled down somewhere. Things were finally average. Then a rouge, metal, blast from the past ruined it. She should really be used to things going wrong by now.</p><p>The new house was quaint. And by quaint, she meant ridiculously big and fancy for one person. At least she had guest rooms for no guests. Well, one guest. One guest that had no idea about what her job really was, or rather used to be, and it was better left that way. She got to work in the lab. Things were.... new. More projects were seeming less fatal. It almost made her mad that the agency was focusing on non-kill tactics long after what they did to her. After what they trained her to be used to. She met the guy responsible for it, and couldn't be mad at someone who made a change. He was like another younger brother, that she would only occasionally see to talk about condensing equipment down. It helped a lot with her own research, and she learned all about why a killer drone suddenly popped into her house one day. Turning people into animals was only a fraction of what she knew the dude could do for people. The agency still had it's dark side. It wouldn't give up it's old ways that quickly. The inmates were fortunate that she still self tested to find mistakes. Her "limb lab" was close to the prison ward, for easy access to inmates that were in need of new limbs that didn't cause property damage. Otherwise known as limbs she was personally developing to help people that needed them. Her brothers had joked about her becoming Doc Oc with all the times she had wired herself to the machines. Controlling limbs that only mirrored what they were connected to. She could never figure out how to treat them like their own separate entity, but it was theoretically possible at least.</p><p>It was late. Her newest project was a left arm. She had measurements and everything was working smoothly. The inmate had been told it would take a couple months, but she wanted to make it fancy. Giving it a cloaking factor was child's play. Giving it different hues that weren't even natural if she really wanted to, but making it automatically adjust to the wearer's color was the goal. As long as it stopped copying the color of her shirt, things would go fine. It was some of her finest work, and she pat herself on the back for it. She could make it feel pressure, but she couldn't figure out how to make it mimic real touch. It was something she just couldn't figure out, that was so simple in theory. She needed a change of scenery. Something new, something exciting. A vacation maybe. She closed her eyes.</p><p>The alarms going off in the facility should have woken her sooner. The rush made her want to save her work first for whatever the danger was. There was a click. Something was held to the back of her head.</p><p>"I'll be taking that."</p><p>As always she froze. Both hands moving up. He kept the gun trained on her as he fumbled with putting it on. It looked sloppy. Like putting on a glove two fingers over where they were supposed to be. It wasn’t on correctly. She was his ticket out of the facility. She complied. Going along and leading him to the employee parking garage. Inwardly she wondered why it wasn’t kicking in. She couldn’t just “will it” to work. The technology sewn into her ribs was for her own good, but what good did it do when it didn’t kick in. Maybe it was because she was more annoyed than scared. She got into the science behind robotic limbs only after she was brought to the agency. She could stand up against a normal person in hand to hand thanks to them, but she never wanted to hurt anyone. Never even thought she could pull the trigger on someone. She didn’t consider herself braver than the average person, so she wondered how she ended up where she was. She wasn’t brave. Resisting the urge to make little tweaks to help him of all things in fear of getting shot. She wondered what was keeping her alive. The sirens answered her call. A hostage gave an edge. Even in the car driving down the road she still had the gun on her. The calibration in his arm was off. She could tell by the way he kept shuffling his arm. He was used to having one, she could tell, but even trained hands need things to be connected right.</p><p>“You’re a part of the weapons lab, aren’t you?”</p><p>He probably wanted to know where the technology was. Where the weapon was. How ironic. He didn’t know he was a trigger pull away from it.</p><p>“Kinda of..”</p><p>It bothered her watching him deal with the limb. Was it painful? It couldn’t have been healthy. His eyes would dart from her to the road. There was a whole body between her and the joint. They seemed to be slowing down. She probably should have been listening to him. When she finally got her hands on his arm, he was certain it was an attack. Three clicks and suddenly the arm felt comfortable. Immediately she backed off and he twisted his arm. Fingers flexing, wrist turning, it felt natural again. His brows twisted up into confusion. She was cowering away again. Moments of bravery wasted on <em>helping</em> her kidnapper.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>She couldn't tell if he sounded more angry or confused.</p><p>“If it didn’t get synced it would have made you adjust to it. Then you would get one in proper and would have to readjust to it. It’s like putting a glove on one finger over and trying to act like- like. I....”</p><p>He was back to a scowl. At least she didn’t have a gun to her anymore. That was progress, but she really didn’t want to be thrown into the trunk. She can't remember the last time she cleaned it.</p><p>“Look. If you let me continue to work on my arm I’ll cooperate. I’m not- I can’t tell you anything because I don’t know much, but I’ll follow along and won’t run.”</p><p>His expression didn’t falter. She raised her hand up, pinky extended.</p><p>“P-pinky promise.”</p><p>He decided then and there she was obnoxious. However, he could work with her naivety. She knew more than she let on, and if getting her to the main building was made easier, who was he to refuse?</p><p>“If you so much as step in the wrong direction, well... You don’t need to be able to walk to talk.”</p><p>Oh she hated that. Terrified? Yes. But the gravel in his voice was making her more flustered than she should have been around someone who threatened to bust her kneecaps. He wasn’t great at this hit and run tactic. For one he would stand out like a sore thumb in a prison suit with a silver hand. For seconds he didn’t exactly shout “I’m a normal person” with that deadpan expression. If he was really all business it would be harder to talk him out of killing her once the truth inevitably comes out. Her heart was pounding. He had to have a human side right? He agreed to give her a little free roam after all. She looked at his reflection in the window. She didn’t stand a chance in any physical fight without the weapon. So being likable was some sort of... psychological warfare. If he looks at her and sees a body in the way of getting the weapon, there was no doubt he would kill her. If he sees a person, she could stand a chance. So it was decided. She was gonna befriend this bastard even if it killed her.</p>
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